Santil ran.

His ruined shoes caught on the uneven paving.

He fell hard on his fours, scrambled to his feet and kept running in the dark empty lane.

His knees hurt. His lungs burned. His heart boomed madly in his ears. Stars swam in his eyes.

Lit barred windows. A painted boar on a sign above the door. Could it be-

Santil barged in and slammed the thick door behind him, pinning it closed with his body.

He couldn't tell how long he just stayed there, wheezing and trembling. The only thing he was aware of was the thick door between him and...

Santil flinched at a sudden touch.

A pale, rail-thin woman in oversized black leathers in front of him raised her half-gloved hands in mock surrender. "Oi, you made it, alright?" Her face was covered in black tattoos: two large circles around her hazel eyes giving her already gaunt face a skull-like look, and a tangle of flowing lines snaking around the dozens of bone spikes jutting out of her skin. "You aren't that late, love, relax."

Santil blinked at her in confusion. He had never met this woman in his life.

She meaningfully raised her nonexistent eyebrows - or rather, the spikes on her brow. Bone embedded to the skin? "Play along, love, you'll be fine," she whispered, and offered him a hand.

Santil looked past the woman, meeting stares that went from hostile suspicion to unnerving focus. The massive orc behind the grimy bar had a large nasty-looking knife halfway out of its sheath, and there were more ominous glints in the shadows. Just as he thought he was done regretting his life choices for the night. "Thank you," Santil wheezed as he took her hand.

"Just warm a seat and catch y'breath, alright?" She cheerfully maneuvered Santil to an empty alcove in the corner and patted his head when he dropped on the creaking bench. "Stay put, love, ol' Liza'll get you something nice."

Santil slid further into the alcove, eager to avoid the gaze of the other patrons. This was the kind of place Father would have called a "cesspool for people" and while Santil wasn't as... judgmental... he couldn't shake the feeling he was getting dirtier by the second just by sitting in here. The smell was... well. Suffice to say, he kept breathing with his mouth. Sharp senses had their drawbacks.

The woman returned with two glasses of... wine? Hopefully. "Bottoms up, love!" she drawled, and drained her drink in a single gulp, clicking her tongue appreciatively.

Santil tried, with little success, not to think about how grimy the glass in his hands was and took a sip.

"Yeah, what's the nob for it? Acquired taste?" The woman cackled as Santil doubled over in uncontrollable coughing. "That's an Urzak special for you. Warming up already, right?"

The drink was a horribly bittersweet mulled liquor of some kind and yes, it burned like hellfire. Santil nodded and forced out a smile.

The woman threaded her fingers in her unkempt mohawk and flashed him a wide grin - in which he spotted at least three gaps. "Bangin'. Lizavnet's the name, friends call me Liza." She sized him up with a hungry look. "Best friends call me Oh Saints Yes, love," she added with a wink.

Santil cringed away. Quick, think of a fake name! "Um, my name is... er... Sant." Perfect. "Nice to meet you, Lizavnet," he tried with the most polite smile he could muster.

Lizavnet's smile fell. "You're no friend of mine, Sanny, is that what you're saying?" Her sharp gaze had a worrying glint to it.

Santil froze. "Nnnnno no no no, not at all! I... just met you, that's all!" He cleared his throat. "I'd be happy to be your friend... Liza." He tried another sip of the ungodly drink and fought back the ensuing grimace.

Lizavnet eyed him silently for a long moment. "Alright then," she huffed, and her playful smile came back as if it never left. "What's a pretty elf like you doing in the Red Boar with someone else's clothes, Sanny?"

Santil paled. "What do you mean, someone else's-"

Lizavnet scoffed. "Look at your hands, love."

Santil did. They were just smeared with dirt from the road outside, what...? He glanced at Lizavnet's fingers: chipped nails, cracked skin, thin crisscrossing scars. "Oh."

"You have a working suit and nob hands, Sanny," Lizavnet pointed out cheerfully. "Why's that?"

"I... borrowed it?"

The woman exploded in a very unladylike laughter. "Pull the other one, love."

Santil deflated. "I mean to return it, honest! It's just... I couldn't risk someone telling my father." He couldn't even remember the name of the errand boy, to his shame. He took another sip. Saints, but it was terrible.

Lizavnet's face lit up. "Ooo, I can see it now! A well-off sprog sneaking behind his old folks to have a good tumble... Nothing better than lean Lowtown arse, right?"

"I love him!"

Lizavnet's spike-brow raised in amusement in the following silence.

Santil belatedly realized he had shouted the last bit. "I really do," he added, cheeks flushing hot. Against his better judgment, he downed the rest of the foul drink.

"Good to hear, Sanny," Lizavnet chuckled. "Didn't look like you were just dropping by for a warm-up, though."

"No, I..."

Lizavnet nodded knowingly. "Bumped into something scary in the dark, did ya?"

He shivered. "Do you perchance know of... vampires?"

Lizavnet whistled low, eyes widening. "****, kid, you met the Bloody Lord?"

Santil went white as a sheet.

The woman tilted her head. "Red eyes, flowy cape, a ton of jewels? Ring any bell?"

"I... I don't know," Santil admitted. "I felt watched for a while, but I never saw anything. Until... until I looked up. It... it was just a shadow against the sky at first. Then I saw its eyes. They... red? They might have been red. I don't know how long I just stood there, staring back. Then it moved." He shivered again. "I've been running since."

Lizavnet nodded. "Where did you spot him?"

Santil had no idea about Low City landmarks. "I had just passed an... obelisk with big chains?"

Lizavnet's eyes went wide again. "You outran him here from the ol' slave market? Blimey, love, you've got some legs on you."

Santil sighed. "Sound mind in a sound body, my father says." He hadn't imagined those hellish drills would have turned useful one day.

Lizavnet hummed thoughtfully. "Ol' bastard both got you in trouble and sprung you out, right? Well, not that you're safe yet, but y'know."

Santil frowned. That was... an interesting way to see it. "You mean... it's waiting for me out there?"

Lizavnet nodded gravely. "Bloody likely. Stubborn bastard, that one."

Santil wanted to cry. Unmanly, but if Father knew... well, stuff him. "So how... how can I get home?"

"In one piece? You get dangerous, or you get smart," Lizavnet replied cheerfully. "Now, no offense, love, but I can't see a way to get you dangerous that won't be snatched and used against you quicker than you can say 'bugger me silly'."

Santil, for want of a better reply, nodded.

"Right. Smart it is, then." She nodded back. "You need a plan, love. What do you have on hand? Coin, jewels, charms...?" Lizavnet's eyes got wide. "Nothing?"

Santil flushed again. "I didn't want to be recognized on the street, alright?"

"Yes, love, but there's playing the part and then there's wagering your entire arse on it," Lizavnet pointed out, scratching the back of her head. "Risky plans like that, you need extra safety when they go tits up."

"Alright, I messed up," Santil admitted. "What do I do now?" Not that he was buying her charming persona - he wasn't trusting her just yet.

"Well, first you get friendly with a local, but you got that covered," Lizavnet winked. "Then you make them interested in helping you."

"Well, that's covered as..." Santil's voice died seeing the hard glint in the woman's manic eyes. "I meant, how do I do that?"

"You make it worth their while," the woman grinned wide - four gaps, Santil counted them. "Now, I'll ask one last time: do you have anything on you worth some coin?"

Santil hugged himself as he tried to think, but there wasn't a lot to go on. The only things he had on him were cheap and stolen. "I... I'm afraid not, Liza..."

Lizavnet sighed. "I'm not big on trading favors, Sanny. If you open a tab with me, it's going to cost you."

"I... I'll pay." Santil nodded. "My father is rich. How much...?"

Lizavnet leaned forward on her elbows, eyes hard and serious. "I'm not talking coin, Sanny. When I get you safe and sound under your roof, you're gonna owe me your life. And you don't think that's as cheap as a few bits of gold, right?"

Santil leaned back, shivers running down his spine. "What do you mean?"

Lizavnet smiled naughtily. "I mean you become a real friend of mine, love. If I ask for coin, I get it. If I ask you a favor, you do it. No whinging, no ifs or buts."

Santil grimaced, imagining a life in the pocket of a Low City thug. "For my whole life?"

Lizavnet scratched her chin in thought. "Well, for my whole life, more like. Hightown elves live longer than street rats, right? Even those with posh friends. So don't sweat too much, love," she added with a cheeky grin.

That was... true. And if Father ever knew about it... he'd make sure he couldn't visit Laio again. Santil frowned; he would be punished. But... Father would take care of this mess. It wouldn't be pleasant... but nothing ever was, around him. Santil met her amused gaze. "You'll tell me I have no choice."

"Oh, you have plenty!" Lizavnet leaned back with a lazy smile. "You can try your luck with the rest of this mob," she said gesturing at the rest of the bar, "bunch of golden hearts and helping hands, I swear. Or you can flip us all off and take your chances with the Lord. Do you like either of those odds?"

Santil sighed, defeated. "Not really."

She flashed him another big grin. "Good for you. I'll get another round so we can clink on it." She left with the glasses before he could stop her - not without drawing unduly attention to him.

Santil pinched the bridge of his nose, still regretting the last atrocity of a liquor and hoping against hope he wouldn't be forced to drink something worse.

"Buzzed already, love? Last one, I swear," Lizavnet chuckled, setting a glass before him.

Santil took it and stared hard into it, steeling himself, trying not to think if Liza had payed any attention to give him the glass he had drank from earlier. The contents looked dreadfully familiar. Best to get it over with as soon as possible, right?

"Oi, Sanny, got to clink to make our... understanding nice and official, you know," Lizavnet pointed out, raising her glass. "To midnight deals and new friends."

Santil clinked his glass against hers, took a deep breath and downed the foul liquid as fast as he could. He grimaced, of course, but... it didn't taste as bad. Still disgusting, but almost bearable. Santil resolved to leave this hellhole before he started to actually like the swill. "Alright, what's the plan?"

Lizavnet shrugged, having downed her drink with much more grace - or what passed for grace in Lowtown. "Never put too much stock in plans, Sanny."

Santil... blinked, nonplussed. "So we just go and... challenge him?"

Lizavnet laughed at that. "Oh, the Bloody Lord isn't one for fair fights. Bet you he's nested up somewhere near, ready to jump on you as soon as you let your guard down."

Santil palmed his face. "Are there any good news?"

"Good news? Well, I never fought a fair fight in my life, love. And I've got just the thing to be very, very unfair to him," she added with a nasty smile.

Santil didn't dare to hope yet. "Some kind of... enchanted weapon?"

"Got it in one," Lizavnet replied, appreciative and surprised in her lazy way, and opened the left side of her jacket for a moment. Santil caught a glimpse of dozens of little pockets, most of them filled with Saints knew what, but what caught Santil's attention was a large spike with some kind of spiral decoration, just... strapped to the leather. Lizavnet winked. "Blessed stake, Sanny. Even if it doesn't pierce the heart, it takes nice big chunks off leeches like him."

Santil's eyed narrowed. It was too good to be true. "And you just... happen to have it?"

"Wouldn't dream to take a piss without it." Lizavnet shrugged. "At least, not since the ol' bastard snuffed my little sister last winter."

Santil looked away. "I'm... sorry."

"Don't be," Lizavnet replied evenly. "Tonight her ghost gets to piss on his."

Santil was about to mention that her sister being a ghost meant she wasn't resting in the light of the Saints, but thought better of it. He just nodded and met her gaze.

"So the only thing I need is a good hiding spot," Lizavnet explained, "but I'll take care of that. You only need to wait a bit as I do, then get out of the back door and sprint right for Hightown as fast as you can. Sounds good?"

Santil frowned. "I can run, yes. But I'll get lost in no time... I don't get around here often."

"Trust me, I could tell," Lizavnet laughed. "But that's no problem, the alley back there runs from the walls all the way to the big shiny square with the new lamps. It winds around a bit, but it's easy enough to follow."

Santil's eyes went wide with disbelief. "From the walls to the Ascendant plaza?" But that was longer than Dawn Street!

"Lowtown has hidden depths, love," Lizavnet replied with a wink, standing up, "I'll tell you about Rat Alley next time."

Santil nodded absently. He didn't really care. He declined her offer of another round of Urzak's special "to enjoy the wait" and then he was alone.

He closed his eyes and focused on his ears. The patrons of the bar grumbled a lot, to each other or, in many cases, to nobody in particular, the sloshing of liquid and the scraping of glass against wood punctuating any trail of thought their drunken rambles might have had.

It was about twenty minutes - Santil had a good internal watch, when he wasn't running for his life - before he heard heavy footsteps coming to him from the bar. The massive orc bartender loomed over him for a moment, a weary scowl on his face, before collecting the glasses. "Need anything, kid?"

Santil shook his head, not daring to meet his gaze, then a nasty doubt reared its ugly head. "Did she settle the tab?"

The bartender huffed - or maybe sighed. "I'll corner her another night," the orc grumbled, angry - or exasperated? "'The boy's drinks are on me', she said."

Santil relaxed the slightest bit, then dared another question. "Does the back alley go right into Hightown?"

"Eventually." the orc glared at Santil for a long moment, glasses looking very small in his hand. "How do you know Liza, kid?"

"I'm... an old friend of hers. Thank you for... the drinks," Santil replied, trying to convey as politely as possible that the conversation was over. The orc - Urzak, possibly - shot him an odd look, but nodded and left him alone, stomping his way back to the bar.

Santil gave Liza another five minutes then made his way to the back of the bar, trying not to think about the eyes - not all in pairs - staring at him as he went, and the much scarier pair waiting for him outside. His clammy hand closed around the back door's handle.

He was as ready as he could be. Even if Lizavnet failed to kill the vampire, she would buy him enough time to get to Hightown, when his clan marking on his shoulder would earn him an escort from any patrolling guard.

Santil took a last deep breath. For Laio. To see his sweet smile again.

He yanked the door open and ran.

The back alley was even darker than the main lane, but Santil's eyes steered him away from suspicious puddles and precarious piles of trash. The first time he saw a wall in front of him his heart skipped a beat, but when he got there he spotted the low dilapidated arc just to the side; he ducked in and kept running, straining his ears to hear movement over his own frantic breathing -

His trousers caught on something and Santil fell. He scrambled to his feet but something caught his ankle. He turned to see-

A grimy skeletal dog had his leg in its jaws. Another leaped out of the darkness before he could scream and tackled him into the ground. He hit his head, all air knocked out of him. Someone was standing above him, saying something he didn't quite catch. The weight on his chest and around his ankle faded away, and he was gently lifted to his wobbling feet by strong hands.

"Anything broken, beautiful?"

Santil gingerly raised a hand to the back of his head. It hurt like hell, but. Santil shook his head and winced, immediately regretting it.

"Wonderful. Deep breaths, my friend."

Santil found himself relaxing at the stranger's refined, honeyed voice. He thought of Father's less... abrasive friends, but something didn't make sense. He blinked, trying to focus. The stranger was dressed for a ball, impeccable jacket and expensive cravat and porcelain skin and...

Glowing red eyes.

Santil's spine froze over.

"Well met, beautiful," the stranger purred, lips parting over sharp teeth. "You may call me Lord Kinailar."

"Bloody Lord," Santil slurred.

"Language, boy," Kinailar chided. "Who taught you that undignified moniker? That peasant whore?" He tore his burning eyes from Santil, glaring down the alley. "Come out, you brazen wench," he called out.

A familiar drawl replied. "Since you asked so nicely..." A leather-clad woman stepped into the alley, shoulders slouched and hands in pockets.

Santil's eyes went wide. It couldn't be. "Liza?" He croaked.

"Oi, Sanny," she nodded casually, then turned to the vampire. "You called?"

The vampire's sour tone echoed in the alley. "Are you the one spreading that undignified name around?"

"Every horror story needs a badass villain name," Liza shrugged. "Is that all?"

"Not quite, Lizavnet." His tone went back to silky and commanding. "Tell our new friend about our deal."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Alright, love, it's like this: I lead young meat to His Highness, he gets yummy blood, I get fresh materials without the hassle of bleeding them. Young blood can fetch a pretty penny on the black market, but it's messy as hell and sangromancers are all stingy arseholes so it's not that big of a loss." She looked up with a thoughtful noise. "Well, there was that hot redhead-"

"That's quite enough, Lizavnet," Kinailar interrupted.

Santil found his voice again, albeit slurred and unsteady. "But the stake...?"

Kinailar's eyes snapped to Liza. "The stake?"

The woman opened her jacket, unfazed. "He's talking about this," she said, tapping the spike strapped to the leather. It made a strange hollow noise. "That's "just" a unicorn horn, unfortunately, not an inscribed stake." She scratched her chin. "Also no, the tragic dead sister was just a sob story I've come up on the spot, I'm afraid." Every word a leaden weight in Santil's stomach.

He glared at her, bitter with betrayal, but her only reaction was a mock of an apologetic shrug. He tried to keep the slur out of his voice, stars still flashing in his vision. "Every word was a lie."

"Oh, not every word," Liza chuckled, "just most of them. I was at the Boar to celebrate the unicorn deal with a warm something, honestly, either a drink or a bed to crawl in - it cost me an arm and a leg, but far less than what's really worth. You were the one who tattled all about His Highness, so when I got out I flagged him down and woke my puppies up," she explained, giving an affectionate glance to the undead monstrosities.

"You were wasting time reveling instead of honoring our deal, Lizavnet?" the vampire huffed. "It has been almost a week since your last offering."

Liza shrugged. "I've got full stock of everything I need, love, and with all the scraps I've been selling the prices are dropping like an anchor. I may have to sell this one to the butch-"

"I couldn't care less about your pockets," the vampire scoffed. "I was considering having you as my next meal, Lizavnet. You shall not make me wait this long again. Are we clear?"

Liza tilted her head. Her lazy smile didn't falter, but there was a strange glint in her eyes. "Crystal," she drawled after a moment. "Is that all?"

Kinailar ignored her, returning his unnerving stare to Santil. "See, beautiful? The hope you were clinging to, so cruelly dashed to pieces - but that's Lowtown for you."

"Unfair," Lizavnet muttered, "Urzak's a big ol' softie, he'd have taken him in."

Kinailar ignored her. "So unfair, isn't it?" He shook his head with a sympathetic sigh. "In fact, I feel generous tonight. I shall give you a chance. Lizavnet, make your hounds heel."

The vampire didn't take his scarlet eyes off Santil, so he missed the flash of uncertainty in Liza's eyes before she whistled. The beasts crouched, perfectly still but clearly ready to pounce.
Kinailar smiled encouragingly and took a graceful step back. "Here it is, beautiful - your last chance of survival. Do not squander it."

Santil ran.

Kinailar barely let his prey take a step before sinking his teeth into his neck. Delicious blood flooded his mouth - the delicate texture of elven nobility, the rich, rounded taste of healthy, sheltered youth marinaded in fear, the faint counterpoint of despair's sour aftertaste... if Kinailar had been any less dignified he would be moaning in pleasure. He sucked in tempo with the little thing's fluttering heart, riding out the elf's terror to its last breath.

Kinailar straightened up and breathed in the brisk night air, dazed by the best meal he had put his fangs on in his two years of unlife. There was more blood left in his prey, of course, but the first gorging held such a... well, vital component to it. He saw the stars of the Serpent timidly shine through the clouds, heard the shaking breaths of the cheap cattle cowering in their rickety homes... The sharpening of senses that followed elven feeding was even stronger than usual. Did it depend on the bloodline's purity? Something to bite into, to be sure.

He bent over the elf to finish his meal, and his vision swam. His fingers tingled uncomfortably. Kinailar frowned. He could count every soft, impalpable hair on his prey's jaw; at the same time, he was miles away and barely able to distinguish the boy's delicate features. The elf slid down from his listless arms.

"Everything alright, love?"

Kinailar's head turned sharply to meet Lizavnet's eyes and he almost tripped on his own feet.

The woman tilted her head and smirked. "Did someone spike your drink, mate?"

Kinailar stared down at his meal, crumpled like an abandoned puppet. "You bitch," he drawled, "what did you do?"

The whore rolled her eyes. "Right, you like explanations. Turns out powdered unicorn is quite good for elves - not so good for vampires." Lizavnet's jacket rustled as she shrugged. "I needed some fresh vampire bits for a little project I've been toying with lately, you see. Can't get fresher than a young vampire, so spoiled he gets trusting and still fat from his last tasty bite, right?" She whistled.

The undead beasts caught Kinailar's hands and ankles in their jaws and yanked him to the ground. He fought back, but his strength was gone. Even scraping a few syllables together as Lizavnet closed in was a struggle. "What... do you... want..."

Lizavnet crouched, her face straight over his, and rummaged in her jacket. Her smirk turned into a wide grin, four gaping holes where her canines should be, and a pair of pliers gleamed in the dark.

"Play along, love, won't hurt a bit."